


See the Sparks Fly

by Skitz_phenom



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Canon, Canon Universe, Episode: s05e03 The Death Song of Uther Pendragon, Gen, Magic Revealed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-07
Updated: 2019-10-07
Packaged: 2020-11-27 03:09:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,180
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20941301
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skitz_phenom/pseuds/Skitz_phenom
Summary: Just a brief study of 'what if' from S05:e03 The Death Song of Uther Pendragon:  What if Arthur didn't blow the horn right away?For Merlin Canon Fest 2019.





	See the Sparks Fly

**Author's Note:**

> I'd wanted to do so much more with this idea (and I'm sure it's been explored by others, and better) but life and time got the best of me; maybe someday I'll expand on this ficlet? This is very much a wish-fulfillment kind of piece and rather self-indulgent. :)

“It will give me great pleasure killing you.”

Pinned to the wall by spears, Merlin could only watch as the Spirit of Uther raised a sword, leveling the point at his chest. His heart jumped to his throat; he’d lived so many years fearing death at Uther’s hands that to face it now would almost be comical, if it wasn’t so terrifying.

“Father!” Arthur called out as he stepped into the armory, and Uther’s spirit turned away.

Despite his abject relief at the rescue, Merlin still watched the scene in front of him with trepidation; worried Arthur might balk at what he had to do.

Then Arthur held up the horn, displaying it to his father’s shade.

“Arthur! No!” Uther protested. And then pleaded. “Please. Whatever I have done, I have done for Camelot.”

“You've had your turn,” Arthur stated firmly, pausing for only a moment. “Now it's mine.” He brought the mouthpiece of the horn to his lips and inhaled.

Desperate, Uther called out, “Merlin has –”

Merlin held his breath as the words were frantically spoken and for the briefest of moments, he thought Uther was too late.

Then Arthur lowered the horn a fraction, seeming to hesitate, and the final one was spat out.

“… magic!”

Arthur didn’t say anything at first and his resolved expression didn’t change.

“Did you hear me, son?” Uther took a step forward. “Merlin, he has magic.”

Lungs burning, as he feared to even exhale, Merlin’s eyes began to blur as he waited for Arthur’s reaction.

Arthur’s brows dipped inward, and he frowned but it was a puzzled, almost quizzical expression. “You think I don’t know?” he asked.

“What?” Uther gasped, faltering back a step.

“You think I’m so out of touch with what happens in Camelot that I don’t know I’ve a sorcerer at my side?”

The air punched out of Merlin’s chest, leaving him breathless and the tears collecting in his lashes spattered his cheeks when he blinked. Arthur knew?

“What?” Uther said again, this time in disgust. “You knowingly allowed a sorcerer to go free in my kingdom? To remain in such a close position to the throne?” He began to lever the sword once again. “How could you betray me like this?”

“It’s my kingdom, father. And it’s time for you to let me rule it.” This time, before Uther could spit out another accusation or even strike out with the sword, Arthur raised the horn again and blew out a long, strident note.

The spirit that was Uther Pendragon vanished.

As the eerie sound faded to silence, Merlin could only stare at Arthur. He felt numb… unsure what to say or how to react.

Arthur, for his part, stood there with the horn still at his mouth for a few long moments and his gaze seemed focused on the emptiness where his father’s ghost had just been. His eyes glistened but if there were tears, they remained unshed. Eventually, he lowered his arm and loosed a heavy sigh.

He tucked the horn back into his belt and then crossed the room and stopped at the end of the spears. “He certainly came close,” he muttered, taking hold of one of the wooden shafts and then yanking it out. He took the time to place the spear back on the weapons rack, like this was just a normal day coming off the practice field. He came back then and removed the second spear, which took a bit longer as the sharp point was buried deep into the wooden wall.

Even after Arthur had the second spear slotted into its’ place in the rack, Merlin still felt pinned to that wall. He stayed where he was, not moving except to breath. And even that was shallow, as if too harsh a sound or abrupt a motion might… well, he didn’t know what it might do.

Finally, he dared a soft, “Arthur?”

Hand still on one of the spears – he looked to be twisting it in place – Arthur didn’t look at him. “It’s late,” he said, voice low. “And I think we’ve had enough excitement for one night.” Though he huffed out a quiet chuckle, there was no humor in it.

Merlin frowned. Arthur couldn’t mean that they’d just ignore what had been revealed, could he? And he wondered, desperately: had Arthur actually known? Or had he just lied to his father’s spirit, and protected Merlin despite what must seem such an unforgivable betrayal?

“Arthur?” he repeated.

But Arthur just jerked his head in a ‘come along’ gesture and turned for the door. He didn’t look back to see if Merlin followed, although he did pause in the egress, like he was waiting to hear Merlin’s footsteps behind him.

Confused, but unwanting of Arthur’s ire, Merlin hurried to cross the armory and moved into step just an arm’s length behind his back.

“The braziers,” Arthur said, and there was a strange hesitance in his speech. “Douse them, will you?”

Merlin nearly stumbled at the instruction. Did Arthur mean…? He couldn’t have meant using magic, could he?

“I don’t have anyth–” he started to say.

Arthur shook his head. “No. The other way.” He turned around, facing Merlin and gave a little nod as if to say, ‘go ahead’.

Swallowing past a rising lump in his throat – what if this was just the final act of confirmation and condemnation – Merlin finally uttered, “Yes, sire.” He inhaled, the sound sharp in the quiet of the room, and then breathed out, “Forþ fleoge.” 

Merlin’s eyes stayed locked on Arthurs’ while the flames in the brazier slowly extinguished themselves. As the room went dark around him, faint, flickering torch light coming from the hallway behind Arthur limned his figure in a nimbus of pale gold.

Arthur was still and silent for a very long time, and unable to see his face, Merlin had no idea how to react. He waited, and the trepidation – muddled with anxiety and fear – made his heart ache as it thudded in his chest.

Finally, Arthur nodded. “Right then.” He turned around without another word and continued striding down the hall. After a few paces, he called out an impatient, “Come along, Merlin.”

Merlin scrambled to catch up.

It wasn’t until they reached Arthur’s chambers that he finally stopped, pausing outside the door. When he turned around his expression remained curiously blank.

“Tomorrow, when you bring breakfast, come later than you usually do.” He offered a faint, but genuine smile that shone in the lines around his eyes.

Dutifully, Merlin nodded.

Arthur opened the door and stepped inside. Once again, he stopped in the doorway and he looked back at Merlin, the little grin grew into a faintly puzzled smirk. “And, bring enough for two. I expect we’ll have quite a bit to discuss.”

The last syllable of his immediate, “Yes, sire,” was spoken to a closed door, but even so, that miasma of confusion whirling around in his breast finally settled and dissipated. Something new formed in its’ place, pressing warmly around his heart: a small but growing fragment of hope. 


End file.
